67 Winchester
by Jinnie
Summary: The day after Sam left was the day John Winchester gave Dean the Impala. Missing flashback scene from Dead Man's Blood. Oneparter, complete.


**'67 Winchester**

**Authors:** A. Jinnie

**Rated:** PG

**Pairings?** None

**Warnings:** Spoilers through all aired episodes.

**Summary:** The day after Sam left was the day John Winchester gave Dean the Impala. Missing flashback scene from "Dead Man's Blood". One-parter, complete.

The day after Sam left would always be memorable to Dean.

It was the first time he woke up, hand on his knife, and glanced over to check on his little brother automatically - only to remember Sam wasn't lying there. Could very well never be there again. The bed was neatly made to the point of absurdity, corners tucked in and utterly no glimpse of the wrinkled sheets hiding underneath.

It was the day after he'd watched his father deck his youngest son, who'd then sent the older man sprawling against a table and walked out the door without noticing the $5,000 Dean had hidden in his duffel bag.

It was the last time he'd ever seen his father drink more than token cans of beer.

It was the day John Winchester gave Dean the Impala.

* * *

Sam didn't understand. _Couldn't_ understand. A part of John was grateful for that. Dean was a warrior, a soldier with a cold, calculated view of how to survive and the hard-won skills to handle the most horrid of situations. But Sam - Sam was, and always would be, his baby son. His last gasp of normalcy in the high waters of Hell his life now was.

They stood together, father and his last remaining son, framed by spots of oil the taxi had dropped on the concrete while Sam won the war for his innocence. Sun glinted off the Impala's immaculate dash, her gleaming beauty a startling contrast to the suspicious shine of Dean's green-gold eyes and the slight crook across John's nose.

John dug his hands in his pockets, the metal digging into his fingers.

"Dad, it might be best to give him a few hours before chasing him down," Dean cut in, warily noting his father's grip.

He crossed his own arms against his chest, shifting his feet against the gravel. He glanced down, running a foot over the stains. His heart constricted - with worry? With pride?

_Sam_.

But any hint of his feelings were long buried behind a mask of smirking apathy by the time John looked over at him.

"That's not what I'm doing," his old man spoke heavily, husky voice valiantly not shaking. If Dean squinted, he could see grey teasing John's hair which hadn't been there the night before.

"Dad?"

A little bit of guilt, a little bit of desperation, a little bit of hope. John opened his mouth, closed it. Some things were better left unsaid. Aware that Dean tensed when he moved closer, he pulled the keys out. Years were beginning to wear the nickel plating off the copper beneath.

He held them up until Dean took them, the naked emotion on his son's face enough to rip out the rest of his heart.

"Take care of them," John ordered, in the same tone he used when it was Dean's turn to detail the car. _Like you always have_.

Dean closed his hand around the keys and nodded.

The sound of an approaching motor earned automatic reactions from both, Dean and John instantly checking on each other's status before turning to face whatever dared interrupt what passed for moments between them.

Dean's heart skipped a beat. That was it. He was burning the bones of whoever invented the cheerful yellow cars.

"I have a gig in San Francisco," his father mumbled - _his father mumbled._ John didn't mumble.

"Dad - " Dean realized. Somehow, he knew this wouldn't the first such gig for the next four years.

But John ignored him, stepping into the taxi with no hesitation. "I'll keep in touch," he answered shortly. The car pulled away in a squeal of breaks.

Shaking his head, Dean stepped over to the beautiful girl waiting for his caress. Sammy would never see either of them until his little brother wanted to or it couldn't be avoided. But that didn't mean Dean couldn't take another route.

The door squeaked, the engine purred and the taut leather of the wheel slid smoothly against his palms. His tape blared as he spun her around.

* * *

The day after Sam left would always be memorable to Dean.

It was the day Dean learned his family was unbreakable.


End file.
